Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy. No profit made, no infringement intended.

His glasses slip down his nose, and he lets them hang feebly off his nose. His fingers trace her words, the powdery chalk leaving on a reminder on his skin. The words are only impersonal lessons, but he lingers in each curve and loop.

He picks up the chalk stick lying beside the chalkboard, wondering in a brief moment of sentimentally whether her fingers had also wrapped around it. His hand clenches as his eyes water, snapping the brittle stick in two. He sets down the pieces, takes the books he came for, and closes her door one last time.

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